


Slight Return

by minkhollow



Category: Daria - Fandom, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-20
Updated: 2002-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkhollow/pseuds/minkhollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Horsepersons get brought back into the world after the events of Good Omens... sort of.  Meanwhile, in Lawndale, a few people have started acting kind of weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2002; for a long time (until I finished Deliver Me from My Friends), it was the longest fic I'd finished. For the _Daria_ timeline, this is between "Is It Fall Yet?" and "Fizz Ed."

**Personages of Apocalyptic Significance**  
*War (War - makes everyone fight, or, failing that, at least argue)  
*Famine (Famine - makes people really, really hungry)  
*Pollution (Pollution - gets stuff messy)

 **The Popular Crowd**  
*Sandi Griffin (president of the Fashion Club, scraping-by student)  
*Quinn Morgendorffer (vice-president of the Fashion Club, occasional student)  
*Stacy Rowe (secretary of the Fashion Club, also an occasional student)  
*Tiffany Blum-Deckler (coordinating officer of the Fashion Club, only nominally a student)  
*Jamie White (a football player, one of Quinn's admirers)  
*Joey (...Well, except for the name, see Jamie.)

 **The Cynics**  
*Daria Morgendorffer (a student and aspiring writer)  
*Jane Lane (a student and artist)

 **Mystik Spiral (Members Thereof)**  
*Trent Lane (lead guitarist/vocalist and a slacker-narcoleptic)  
*Jesse Moreno (rhythm guitarist, fond of one-word sentences)

 **And:**  
*Crowley (the only emissary of Hell whose mind has made it out of the 14th century)


	2. A Study on Fights and Fashion Sense

Scarlett woke up with a start. After cursing falling dreams to the highest appropriate degree, she noticed her surroundings. Then she actually looked at them.

How in the _world_ had she wound up in a canopy bed?!

This was probably part of Someone’s plot to keep certain people visible, at least for a while. She wouldn’t be surprised if that miserable excuse for an Antichrist was in on it. So far as that matter went, she sincerely hoped Below had better taste next time they pulled that trick.

But no matter. It wasn’t going to do her any good to get steamed at her superiors at ( _um... clock? Anyone? Ah, there we go._ ) three in the morning. And besides, she was clearly going to need the saner hours to work out where - and who, from the looks of things - she was.

Problem was, she didn’t know if she could get back to sleep now that she knew she was in a canopy bed...

***

She must have managed in the end. Quinn Morgendorffer, owner of the room, woke up a good twenty minutes after her alarm went off. She didn’t know why she was so tired even after the extra sleep - after all, she hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night.

 _Can’t even sleep till noon,_ she thought for no readily apparent reason. As she made her way to her closet, her mind also seemed to be leaning toward wearing something red.

She brushed the oddity of that thought aside until she actually opened her closet and discovered the only red thing in it was her Mom-bribing halter top. (She’d lost track of the ultimatums it had earned her, not to mention the cash.) Knowing full well she’d never hear the end of it if she was caught trying to wear it to school, Quinn pulled the halter top out and started fishing around for a jacket to wear over it.

***

While not incredibly happy about the lack of total control over what she was doing, Scarlett was willing to put up with having things in hand at least part of the time. It was something, and she’d take something over nothing any day. Having just sat through a solid stretch of Nothing for undefined amounts of time, she should know.

So what was this chick’s schedule, anyway? There was a planner in her locker, though Scarlett doubted it was school-issued. Not if the cover was coral pink. At any rate, it probably contained some of her answers.

One of those answers was a little (all right, a lot) hard for her to accept. “Fashion Club? Whose brilliant idea was _that_?”

 _Oh, that’s right,_ the rightful owner of the body mused. _That sale at Cashman’s. Sandi’s only been going on about it for the last three weeks or so. I’ll have to get money later._

Scarlett was definitely not looking forward to spending the entire afternoon in a shopping mall. On the other hand, she might be able to get some more red in the girl’s wardrobe selection. With the slightest smirk, she set about going through the rest of the locker.

***

“Kuh-winn.”

Quinn glanced sidelong at Fashion Club president Sandi Griffin. She was nearly certain that whatever was coming had something to do with the halter top. She sighed and said, “What?”

“Why are you, like, mixing primaries? That’s been a fashion don’t since day one, or something.”

Even though she knew there was nothing wrong with a red top and blue jeans, she now had a case to argue. “Oh, honestly, Sandi, don’t you know pastel blue when you see it?” (A convincing argument, though she had no idea why she was being so... forceful about it.)

“Gee, Quinn, I would think if your jeans were _old_ enough to count as pastel, you would’ve, like, replaced them by now.” Sandi paused in her valley-girl-isms to eat some of her salad. “Maybe your geeky cousin, or whatever she is, is rubbing off on you?”

“Saandiii...” coordinating officer Tiffany Blum-Deckler chimed in (or droned, anyway). “That _worrd_... eww.”

“Look, just because I’m putting a little more effort into my classes doesn’t mean I’ve lost my fashion sense. Besides, I thought the whole point of different styles was to get some variety in.” Part of Quinn’s brain was absolutely screaming for a way - ANY way - out of this stupid conversation.

“Um, Quinn?”

Not accustomed to only hearing from one-third of the J’s at once, Jamie White’s presence nearly went unnoticed by the three girls. however, the rebellious sector of Quinn’s mind put two and two together, came up with five, and noticed Sandi had spilled her grape juice.

As she turned around, she also noticed the third J’s clothes looked like they’d been washed in a bleach load. “Hi, Jer- Jo- Jim- what _is_ it?-”

***

Scarlett thought this would be as good a time as any to take over for a bit. “Mr. White.” This earned her an appreciative smirk from both the person she was talking to and the one who was standing there - not that anyone else would have known the difference.

“Presumably you want to go talk,” she continued, not bothering to make it a question. He nodded, and she stood up, leaving Sandi and Tiffany to their own devices.

They headed for a corner table that was otherwise vacant and sat down. “I hope you’re having better luck than I am,” Scarlett started. “ _Someone_ figured it would be funny to see me dealing with a fashion head.”

“Three of them,” White corrected.

“That’s not my point! My _point_ is...” She had to stop and think about her point, and wound up changing it altogether. “If I say there’s no God, do I lose my job?”

“Don’t know. Wouldn’t try it, if I were you. The people Below probably have enough to deal with after that... anticlimax without trying to replace you. How many jobs’ve you got going now, anyway?”

“Work? What do you mean, work? We just got out of Limbo, and besides, I’m currently stuck in Suburbia amongst a bunch of fashion heads. How’m I supposed to work under these conditions?”

“Check a newspaper,” White explained. “You’ll see what I mean. Aside from what you’ve mentioned, has it been a good day?”

“Eh. Been a day, at any rate. This girl has no red clothes besides this,” she said, pointing out the halter top. “And a skirt that’s maybe three inches long. That is soon to be remedied.”

“So you’re actually getting into this fashion thing?”

Scarlett treated him to a withering glare. “Only so much as it benefits me. On a related note, I may have come off lucky in regards to which fashion head I got landed in. That poor Asian girl... has she ever had an original thought in her life, and what is she taking to keep from repeating the experience?”

“Maybe stuttering therapy?”

“Stepped in what?”

“Till recently, the most anyone could do for chronic stutterers was to get them talking at one syllable per second.”

“Oh.” A pause for thought, then: “Hey, you haven’t seen Famine around, have you?”

“You know the trade-names deal. And no.”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the class-change bell. “Catch you later,” Scarlett managed to get out before Quinn was running things again.


	3. Which is Exceedingly Muddy

Jamie didn’t feel like doing much at football practice. He didn’t know exactly why. Part of it, at least, was his stomach - maybe not eating lunch on a practice day wasn’t such a good idea.

And for some reason, he was thinking the football field was far too green to be allowed.

He stuck out practice as long as he could, but had to stay out after the water break. Staring in the general direction of the Tommy Sherman Memorial Goalpost, but not really looking at it, he contemplated the greenness of the grass and what could be done about it. Maybe if they left the sprinklers on all night -

“Hey dude, you all right?”

Jamie looked up - Joey had posed the question after the scrimmage-team huddle broke. Instead of heading for his spot, he was standing there waiting for an answer.

“Think so. If not, I will be.”

“Okay. It’s just... I don’t know, you’ve been acting kinda weird all day. Thought I’d see if anything was up.”

“Not that I know of,” Jamie replied, shrugging. “You may want to get into the formation before you get run over.”

Joey adopted a facial expression that clearly stated, “Eep!” as he scrambled for his spot - as it was, he barely made it. Jamie’s thoughts wandered back in the general direction of that green business.

No, maybe the sprinklers weren’t the best idea. They’d have to play in a complete mud pit tomorrow. Then again, weren’t those the best possible conditions?

***

“So, like, that should catch you up on everything,” Sandi finished as she put the final touches on her eyeliner. “Oh, except for the part where Quinn’s been weird this week.”

“Weird?” Stacy Rowe wondered. “Weird how? I thought all she was doing was putting more into school...”

“Sta-cee, it’s not that kind of weird. I don’t know how to describe it other than not-Quinn. Maybe if _you_ talk to her, or something, you’ll get an answer. She’s been too busy, like, arguing with me to tell _me_ anything.”

“Um...” Stacy couldn’t think of anything to say - nothing that wouldn’t land her in hot water for thinking, anyway. A song she hadn’t heard in a while started lodging itself in her mind. Trying to think around that, she finally said, “That’s a good idea, Sandi. Thanks for the update.”

Her first clue as to what was up came when Quinn actually made an appearance in the building. She was wearing a red camouflage-print tank top, khaki pants (but at least they were the light kind of khaki), and her usual brown shoes. _‘Weird how’ indeed. I obviously missed something important..._

“Um, hi, Quinn.”

“Stacy! You’re back! Feeling better?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She stuck on the next part for a few moments. “Er... interesting outfit.”

Quinn sighed. “If you don’t like it, just say so. I’m experimenting with some different stuff. And no matter what happens, I’m not going near the army green stuff.”

“That’s good. You know Sandi’ll give you a hard time over the khakis, right?”

“It’s either this or mixing primaries for the second time this week. What’s it matter?”

 _What’s it_ matter _?_ Stacy boggled in the privacy of her own head. _Since when does Quinn treat fashion like that?_ She was about to ask, but her red-headed friend was already off down the hallway.

 _Everybody’s looking like they’re s’posed to/But nobody's looking very good..._

There was that song again. She’d have it stuck in her head for the rest of the day now. With a sigh, she opened her own locker and fished her history book out.

***

Daria Morgendorffer watched her best friend wolf down lunch with the slightest hint of worry in her expression, though it would have taken a trained eye to notice. As it was, the only trained eye in Lawndale High’s cafeteria was more interested in the fork-to-mouth path of her food.

“Jane.” Jane Lane’s attention remained focused on matters of the stomach, so Daria tried again, a little louder. “ _Jane._ ” Having finally captured the apparently starving artist’s attention, she continued, “You're actually eating mystery meat. Please tell me there’s a rational explanation for this.”

“You see any other food options in here?”

“That still doesn’t cut it. You eat breakfast.”

“Not today. I don’t know what possessed the cats to get into my cereal last night, but they did. Ate everything but the box. So the only thing in the house this morning was coffee, unless I felt like taking my chances with the fridge. Last time I checked, that red stuff was going fuzzy.”

“You Lanes and your lurking refrigerator. Anyway. You didn’t go by Do Me a Donut or something on the way to school because...”

“Not enough spare cash,” Jane replied. “And it didn’t seem worthwhile to spend one of Mom’s blank checks on doughnut holes. I did have some coffee before I left, but I’m starting to think tired and hungry may have been the way to go.”

Daria considered. “No, at least you’re alert enough to know you need food.”

“Oh! Speaking of alert, Trent was actually awake by the time I left this morning.”

That sentence and knowledge of Jane’s brother’s sleeping habits did not mesh. “No way.”

“Yes way, Daria. I think the Spiral’s practice ran late last night, or possibly early, but I didn’t bother asking.” A pause for thought (and chewing), then: “Come to think of it, he may have been getting up a little earlier every day for the last few weeks.”

“Strange things are afoot in the mind of Trent, I guess.”

“He’s a Lane, it’s to be expected. You gonna eat that?”

Looking down, Daria realized Jane was referring to her own neglected tray of unfood. She sighed and shoved it across the table, and Jane commenced stuffing her face like there was no tomorrow* - or like she hadn’t eaten in a week.

*This thought actually would have been more accurate a month earlier, though Daria had no way of knowing that.

***

Scarlett got her first good laugh since what had been passed off as Armageddon when she saw the job White had done to the football field.

“It gets better,” he said. “Stick around for the halftime show. Now, if you’ll excuse me, duty calls...”

“Wait a minute. I thought you got benched?”

“Yes, but I still have to sit on the bench. If it’s any consolation, I don’t understand the rules either.” With that he was off to the locker room, leaving the stadium in her more than capable hands.

How long had White been working on this? Three weeks? A month? It explained why she hadn’t seen many signs of his presence in the building. True, the cafeteria tables had gone unwashed and the occasional ballpoint pen exploded, but that all seemed to lack his usual enthusiasm.

That would be because he’d been putting most of his energy into this mud-pit business. Maybe, Scarlett pondered, some of it was to make up for that Antarctica thing he kept meaning to do. On top of being closer to their present location, this would likely prove to be infinitely more interesting.

She hardly paid attention to the game itself, mainly because she’d never had the time to familiarize herself with the rules (though she’d meant to). After giving the matter a bit of thought, she decided White had probably landed in exactly the right person. They both had the same last name, at least as things stood at the moment, and the poor kid’s given name was forgotten by everyone, giving him that lurks-in-the-background element.

Halftime provided Scarlett with her second really good laugh in one day. The home band presumably had learned better than to try marching, but the visitors couldn’t benefit from that foresight (or else they had a sadistic director). The entire saxophone section got a bonus shower when one of them tripped over a sprinkler and set it off. By the end of their show, the band members had slipped so often they looked like they’d been playing the football game.

During the second half a fight broke out in the stands after a referee made the right call on the wrong team. (Then again, from what little Scarlett knew about the sport, the calls were always on the wrong team. It all depended on your perspective.)

The game wound up being a close one, for reasons unrelated to the teams’ respective abilities. Lawndale High finally won, three to nothing.

“So, what did you think?”

“Hmm? Oh, you’re down there. That was brilliant. I still don’t understand the game, but that bit with the band made up for it. I imagine you enjoyed it more when *both* bands were out there. Great job.” She reached down to give him what could pass for a high five, under the circumstances, and got some mud on her hand in the process.

Once Jamie had started back toward the locker room (or wherever), Quinn looked down at her soiled hand. She didn’t remember going anywhere near the football field, but still...

“EWW!”

***

Raven Sable was not enjoying himself.

He hadn’t seen either of the others. Come to that, he didn’t even know if they were all in the same town. How _could_ he when this guy hadn’t left the house in five weeks?

Along with that, he was quite possibly narcoleptic. It had taken a fair amount of Sable’s energy just to institute a regular sleeping schedule. He also had yet to see the inside of the refrigerator, so presumably food was a rare happening in this house without his help.

There was one bright spot. The girl seemed to have felt his presence, even if she hadn’t put the pieces together. Even to the point, if he’d heard correctly, where she was investing in Mystery Meat CHOW (TM) at lunch. In a way, it was nice to know the business was still on its feet.

And then there was the matter of those other three guys, reportedly part of a band. Sable had no idea what the band in question was meant to sound like. They kept aborting practices in favor of grabbing a pizza.

That was it - pizza. Something that would both get him out and handle some business. With a slim smile he hadn’t found an excuse to use since the day before Armageddon-or-something, he sat down to wait. The proper time would present itself sooner or later, and he was determined to sit there on the couch until something happened...

Or maybe that was just the slacker within.

***

Joey suddenly realized Quinn hadn’t had a date in weeks. Sure, she’d been talking to Jamie a lot - and about some suspiciously trippy stuff - but that didn’t mean she’d gone exclusive. Word would have gotten out, and knowing Quinn, she’d have done a screening process.

So why didn’t _he_ try asking her?

“Hey, Quinn. I noticed you haven’t had any dates for a while. Can I take you to Chez Pierre tomorrow?” (Strange, he realized, neither of the other two were there to one-up the invitation...)

“Sorry, Joey, but I’m busy all day.” Then she _smiled_ at him. “Maybe Friday?”

“Erm...” Joey wasn’t quite sure what to make of that smile. It almost made her look predatory. “Uh, never mind. I-it’s not that big a deal. See you later.” And at that he was off like a shot, or possibly a cannonball.

Quinn watched him go with a very confused look on her face. She was used to guys coming *to* her, not running away.

 _It’s that stupid smile. Does it every time._

“It does not!” Not long after she realized she’d said that out loud, she also figured out not enough people had noticed to really dent her popularity.

Then she started wondering precisely what her plans were for the next day. Whatever they were, they had to be worth turning down a date. After all, she’d made them... hadn’t she?

***

“Remind me, what are we doing tomorrow?”

“Going to the pizza place,” White replied. “He’s bound to get out there eventually. I’m sort of surprised he hasn’t yet.”

“And _then_ what?”

“I don’t know. And do be careful, you nearly sounded like a five-year-old there.”

“Hey, can I help it if I want to get out of here? I mean, it’s obviously loads better than Limbo, but... it’s freaking Suburbia. You’re perfectly happy here, or in fact anywhere so long as it’s got the proper mess potential. I’m better off in a desert environment.” Scarlett let out a sigh. “Besides, I want my truck back.”

“Does that mean you’re getting back into arms delivery?”

“Possibly. I don’t know whether my position with the one pulp magazine was held, so I may have to, for a while. Thing is, I just might be able to fix the thing now.”

“You mean if it hasn’t been sandblasted to bits by now...”

“Whatever.” She set Quinn’s history book on the table, opened it at random, and started reading. After a few moments she flipped forward.

White looked at the page she eventually stopped on, and was not at all surprised to see a battle map. “I’d ask if you ever got enough of that, but I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“You have to remember I _knew_ a lot of the people doing this stuff. Usually these books are so far off the mark all they’re good for is a laugh.”

“If you say so.” Thinking it over, White realized he’d never actually read an accurate description of one of his projects. Maybe she had a point after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song stuck in Stacy's head is "Narcissisima," by Don McLean.


	4. Quicksilver Songs

“I _know_ what they think, but I also know what I think. And for my money, the, um - yeah, hosts, thanks - probably don’t even know anything’s up.

“You remember what happened last time they just trusted the Plan. Well, the one they knew about, anyway. They won't be doing that again any time soon, I don’t think.”

The car had been quite an attention-grabber during the leg of the trip he’d needed it for. Most people just assumed the steering wheel was on the wrong side. Everybody knew it was old, and the few who realized it was British had also seemed to appreciate the restoration job.

But as far as he could tell, not one of them had noticed on the occasions, such as now, when he wasn’t actively driving the car.

“Huh? Oh, I think I’m about halfway there. No idea how long the actual job will take, but I don’t think whoever came up with this mess does either. So, it evens out.

“I have no idea. If they _did_ set a time limit, chances are they changed their mind. You know, only one time and that’s Too Late. Or maybe you don’t know, though you should have noticed that by now.

“For my money, they’re getting antsy. Nothing truly important on that scale has happened for... six weeks now, I think. They want action. Possibly even another go at the Big-

“We’d _both_ prefer if they never spoke of it again, but seriously, what’s the likelihood of that? I believe you’re the one who said your people want it to go down.

“Knew you’d see my side of things eventually.

“Oh? You do that, then. Call you later.” Assuming control of the car as he ended the connection, he started poking around in the glove box for a cassette. He finally came up with Bach.

 _Any way the wind blows, d-_

Never mind that idea. The glove box was evidently up to its old tricks again. He’d have to take his chances with the radio.

 _-ly matter to me..._

Obviously he wasn’t meant to win tonight. Adjusting his sunglasses, he drove on through the night and just listened to whatever came on, even the commercials.

Commercials had to be one of his better inventions.

***

“You had two trays of food - if the stuff can be _called_ that - at lunch,” Daria pointed out. “What makes you think you’ll be interested in pizza by the time school’s out?”

“Trust me. I’ll be hungry by then. The stuff they serve isn’t very filling.” Jane had to lean into her locker in pursuit of the textbook she was after. “’Sides, _you_ didn’t eat anything.”

“Watching you eat more or less destroyed my appetite. Mystery meat almost makes Dad’s kitchen sink stew look good.”

“I notice you didn’t say taste.”

“Have never tried the former, and still am not out of excuses to avoid eating the latter. You’re not stuck in there, are you?”

“No...” To prove the point, Jane got her head and shoulders out of her locker, but kept both hands on her history textbook. “Think my book is, though.”

Daria raised an eyebrow and started pulling what were primarily art history books off the trapped text: “Escher... Monet... Picasso... how many of these things do you need here, anyway?... Matisse... Durer...”

“I think I can get it now.”

“Good. My arms are full.” As they started putting the art books back in Jane’s locker, Daria continued, “Anyway. I think you said something about Trent between mouthfuls?”

“Oh yeah. He’s acting weird again. Besides the regular sleeping schedule thing. He was going around yesterday like he was planning something, and the only thing I could get out of him was ‘come and see’... whatever _that_ means.”

 _Come and see... I’ve read that somewhere..._ But Daria didn’t have any more mental leads on the matter.

***

A pair of heavy boots clunked down the basement stairs at Casa Lane. The owner of said boots, Jesse Moreno, stopped on the last one and looked at the lanky figure perched atop an amplifier.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

Trent Lane looked up. “More or less. Don’t feel like I got enough sleep.”

“You get too much sleep, I thought.”

“I don’t know. If I ever wanted to keep track, I slept through it.”

Jesse snickered briefly, then move on to a more serious topic. “McGrundy’s gonna get on your case, man. We’ve missed at least five gigs. How’ll we get house band if we don’t go play?”

“Do you see a point in performing when we haven’t even _started_ a practice without skipping straight to the pizza break lately?”

“Point.” A pause for thought, then: “Hey, speaking of pizza, I think I’m gonna go get some. If I see Nick and Max, I’ll tell them to be over tomorrow, okay?”

“Works for me.”

“Cool.” Jesse clunked back up the stairs, and Trent stayed downstairs thinking for a few minutes. Then he stood up and headed out himself. _Yes... let’s get some pizza. Or, better yet, let’s not and say we did._

***

He parked the Bentley in a reserved space, but that was all right because it was reserved for him. Look for yourself: Reserved for Anthony J. Crowley, 24 hours, all events.

The inside of the school looked to be relatively devoid of life - presumably the students had been let out for the day. Those few who remained were on their way out. A pair of shirts, or possibly jackets - one red and one green - caught his attention, and he decided to see if they could help.

“Excuse me.”

The one in green stopped first. “Only if you have a good one,” she shot back after turning to face him.

The other girl turned around and just looked at him for a few moments, finally saying, “Wait a minute, you’re not with those immigration officials, are you? As much as I’d like a free class period for a few days, I don’t think Mr. DeMartino could handle being arrested again.”

Crowley blinked, though either of the girls would have been hard-pressed to spot any movement behind his sunglasses. “What?”

“I think that counts as a no, Jane,” the first girl said. “In that case, what _do_ you want?”

“I’m looking for a girl,” he replied, using his best lead on who he was meant to find. “Red hair, about so tall, probably about your age.”

“Quinn?” the two girls chorused. After a short side conversation, the one in green said, “I don’t know why you’re looking for my sister, but you won’t find her here. She left as soon as school let out. Probably a big sale at the mall.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “You’re welcome to come to Pizza King with us, if you want.”

“ _Now_ who’s inviting someone they hardly know out?” the other one - Jane - questioned, in half-jesting, half-accusatory tones.

“Can it, Jane. If we must have that conversation, let’s do so later. Weren’t you the one who wanted pizza after school?”

“Well, yeah, but... oh, never mind. Let’s just go.” She turned to leave, then remember they possibly had a guest. “You coming?”

Crowley thought it over, then shrugged. “Why not?”

He followed the girls out of the building, then nearly walked into Jane when she caught sight of the Bentley. “Nice,” her friend commented, clearly impressed but staying subtle about it.

“Oh, come _on_ , Daria, that’s several steps over ‘nice.’ That... that is one hellacious car.”

“One does one’s best,” Crowley replied, smirking.

***

“I could have told you the cassettes wouldn’t do you any good. Next time just disregard all the labels.”

“Oh, it’s all right, I figured it out,” Jane replied. “...Wait a minute. Did you just say _all_ of them are like that?”

“Every single one of ‘em. You expect it to play ‘Here, There, and Everywhere,’ and it gives you ‘Now I’m Here’ instead.”

Daria considered that. “Is it possible for a car to have a sadistic sense of humor?”

“Only on truly bad TV sitcoms,” Jane shot back.

“Shut up and order the pizza, Lane.”

The three of them decided on extra cheese and pepperoni, and Crowley offered to stake out a table. Once he had left to do so, Jane commented, “I hope he’s not going after your sister. He’s cute.”

“I hope so too, but mainly because he seems to have better taste than that. I really don’t think it’d be worth your effort.”

“Just because you stole my boyfriend-”

“This has nothing to do with Tom,” Daria explained, “and besides, you said you were over that. I’ve just got the impression that he’s... taken, more or less.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t think he’s cute.”

“If you start sounding any more like Quinn, I _will_ hit you.”

“Nice to know you’re looking out for me, amiga.”

One of the workers approached the counter with a boxed pizza and three soda cups. “We’re out of plates,” he said by way of explanation.

They took the box and (filled) soda cups over to the booth their guest had picked out. “Do you ever take those sunglasses off?” Jane wondered.

“Only under duress.” That hadn’t really helped to satisfy her curiosity, but she wasn’t really interested in asking questions. She was interested in eating, now that the opportunity to have real food presented itself.


	5. Come and See

They had just finished off their second pizza when Jesse and Trent walked in.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Jane said. “So you finally decided to leave the house, eh, Trent?” Both guys acknowledged her and Daria’s presence before heading for the counter.

“Large pizza, extra pepperoni,” Jesse said. Someone came up from the the kitchen and talked briefly with the cashier, who then replied, “Sorry, dude, but we just ran out of dough.”

“Oh. Bummer. Burgers?”

“You go ahead,” Trent responded, seeming a little distracted. “I’m waiting for some people.” Daria and Jane looked at each other when they heard that.

“I’d ask if you knew who he was waiting for,” Daria mused, “but you apparently don’t know either.”

“Nick and Max, maybe, except the Spiral hasn’t had a full practice in weeks...”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” She went back to pondering the “come and see” thing Jane had mentioned earlier. She _knew_ she’d read it somewhere - possibly the Bible?

A string of very loud cursing from the kitchen area of the store, directed at the freshly broken dishwasher, snapped her out of her thoughts once again. She hadn’t seen the third J walk in, but the muddy tracks across the floor gave away his presence - to hear Quinn tell it, he’d been very mud-happy as of late. The tracks led, of all places, to the booth Trent had claimed about five minutes previously.

“What kind of meeting of the brains is _that_?” Jane boggled.

For his own part, Crowley was watching the booth intently. That was two of them. He half-wondered what was holding the third up. Chances were she wanted out of there as badly as he did, if for polar-opposite reasons.

They barely heard the bell above the door jingle under the further uproar from the kitchens:

“What the hell is this?”

“I don’t know, everything’s broken. And we’re out of pizza dough.”

“So why haven’t you started fixing it?!”

Meanwhile, the red-headed girl who had just walked in took one look at the booth in the corner and said, “ _Fi_ nally! Where have you been, anyway?” Sidestepping and following the mud all at once, she sat down next to the blond and glared expectantly at the lanky dark-haired guy.

***

 _Oh shit,_ now _what do I do?_ After giving the situation a few moments’ thought, Crowley finally said, “Look, girls, I hadn’t exactly expected this to be a ‘come and see’ sort of event, but if you want to stick around-”

 _Pop._

Jamie White was left to wonder who bleach-washed his favorite shirt, how he got so much mud on his shoes, and who the sleepy-looking guy across the table was. One table back, a young man with faded blond hair and dull grey eyes had just turned up. He was easily ignored, at least for the moment.

Over the combined chaos of three separate arguments in the kitchen and the last gasping strains of the broken dishwasher, Daria thought she could pick out “Who Are You” from the radio.

“Well,” Jane said, “we hadn’t expected to come and see how Pizza King holds up under stress...”

Another subdued _pop_ , with much the same effect: Trent Lane felt extremely tired, and somewhat curious as to why he was sharing a booth with Daria’s sister. Someone else had turned up at the booth behind them. This someone had a trim black beard and looked for all the world like some kind of businessman.

“Call it a side benefit,” Daria shot back, before turning her attention to Crowley. “Anyway, that’s my sister over there, and her brother, and one of my sister’s friends.” There was the slightest hint of a smirk in her eyes. “We just wanted to come and see what’s up with some people we care about.”

 _Pop_ the third: Quinn Morgendorffer looked at the mud on Jamie’s sneakers, and the little bit that had snuck onto her shoes in the process, and at the camouflage tank top she was wearing, and at Daria’s weird friend’s brother who could never remember her name. She opened her mouth to say something, not necessarily sensible, and failed to even get a squeak out.

Scarlett closed her eyes in relief. “Tell me, how did I manage to survive nearly two months with that girl?” she mused quietly.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve figured that out,” White responded in kind.

“Why are you here, then?” Sable asked, addressing Crowley. “Have we been recalled or something?”

“No. You’re on your own again. And I kind of doubt you need to ask why _I_ got the honors...”

“Oh, so Below finally got tired of waiting, did they?” It had never been Scarlett’s style to beat around the bush - she much preferred just shoving the damn sword straight through the small animal hiding inside it. “They should try it like _this_ sometime.”

As the three of them left, Crowley realized Daria and Jane were staring at him, and sighed.

“Congratulations, girls. You managed to do... about half of what I was sent here to get done. Not that I’m exactly happy about having to do any of it in the first place...”

“Who were those guys, anyway?” Jane wondered. “And while we're at it, who are _you_?”

***

It was a lot to absorb for a five-minute car ride. Jane thought of several more questions based solely on the answer to the first one, and at least one of them was a subject Daria never wanted to talk about again. She figured on saving them until her friend was out of the car, and did so.

“Okay,” she started as she moved to the Bentley’s front seat. “Supernatural occurrences... aren’t exactly uncommon in Lawndale, but I still don’t get it. I mean, I’ve got the Four Horsemen-”

“Bikers,” Crowley corrected.

“Whatever. What I’m not seeing here is, why Lawndale? That’s part of what I’m not seeing, anyway.”

“I think it either came up as a good short-term idea, or as being very, very funny. Couldn’t tell you for certain.”

Jane thought about that for a while before asking her next question. “Still, couldn’t they have left on their own? I can’t figure out why you got dragged into it.”

“They probably would have found a way out eventually, yes, but... if you must know, I think I got dragged into it because I ruined their fun the first time.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story. Suffice to say the world nearly ended in August, and the only thing stopping it was the fact that nothing went according to plan. Well, not the plan everyone _knew_ about.”

“Sounds like bureaucracy at its finest. Except for the end-of-the-world part.”

Crowley smiled slightly. “Two of them, actually. And don’t think I didn’t have help. I suppose you’d call it more of a ‘like-minded opposite number’ thing.” A pause for thought, then: “Wait a minute. You said something about supernatural occurrences earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“What did _that_ mean?”

“Exactly that, weird stuff. There was a huge mess involving holidays a while back, and the whole town sang through a hurricane not long after. Daria doesn’t want to hear about one of them for the rest of her life and won’t tell me which that is, since that would mean discussing it. But I think, though there’s absolutely no chance of getting her to admit it, that this particular mess gave her a few good story ideas.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are. You mind if I try the music again?”

“If you want. But I’m warning you, the tapes are going to work out the same way they did last time.”

Jane considered. “I’d tell you not to be such a pessimist, but it is your car. Besides, I use that line enough on Daria.” With that, she opened the glove box and pulled out a tape at random.

“Funny, I thought you were _both_ pessimists.”

“Well, if you ask her she’ll give you the dark cloud to match every silver lining. Sometimes she’s a little too good at it.” Before starting the tape, she treated it to a glare which suggested it had better play whatever had been recorded on it.

And it did. But that was the problem. She popped it out before much more than the opening strains of “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy” played, and decided to read the tape’s label after all.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she said upon being informed it really was a Best of Queen cassette, and started laughing.

***

“You never answered my question,” she finally said.

“Could be because I never got a chance... what was it again?”

“Where _were_ you that whole time?”

“Apparently, that guy doesn’t go shopping very often. Or, for that matter, have much motivation to leave the house at all. Took me far too much effort just getting him on a regular sleeping schedule.”

“Narcoleptic?” She’d heard of the condition before, and vaguely remembered trying to cope with a particularly sleepy baron in France, back before the arms-delivery business. That had worked out only marginally better than dealing with those fashion heads.

“No, just incredibly slothful.” The slim smile crept onto his face. “I did at least get a few people to notice _something_ was up. All in all, though, it was pretty uneventful.”

“Too bad you didn’t get out sooner; you should’ve seen the job White pulled on that football stadium.” A pause for thought, then: “See, I don’t get how you can stand that much quiet. It gets on my nerves after a while.”

“Maybe it’s something to do with you always being surrounded by chaos.”

“Eh. Could be. So... now what’re you going to do?”

“I have a business to get back to. You know that.”

“You mean you’re sure it’s still going?”

“Just because I’ve been gone for six weeks doesn’t mean the demand for the product went down. You were in a school cafeteria, weren’t you? Those places are some of my top clients.”

“Oh. Point taken. I guess I should see if my job with the pulp magazine is still... you know, mine. If not, I know where I can get a truck and lots of weapons, and that’ll hold me over until I think of something new. The Middle East needs some action anyway.”

“Looks like we’re once again headed our separate ways. I’ll see you when I see you, I suppose.”

“Seconded.”

Of _course_ they were splitting up again. Given the nature of their respective jobs, and the fact that they crossed paths less and less under normal circumstances these days, was it really possible for it to end any other way?

...Well, yes. It was. And she never wanted it to end like _that_ again.

***

Stacy glanced away from the mirror, in Quinn’s direction. “So, you’re sure it’s over now?”

“I think so. I hope so. Really, I don’t know.” Quinn had gone back to her usual pink shirt and jeans, and had informed Sandi that morning that it was her plan to burn those tank tops. “I tried to get Daria to explain it, but she hates talking about that stuff.”

“Her friend might know.”

“Yeah, she might. I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks.”

For her own part, Stacy was extremely relieved to see the relative dip in the club’s stress level. Over the last month or so things had gotten particularly bad - Quinn had been extremely aggressive in their style debates. It was almost like she’d been trying to pick fights. Whatever the problem had been, it seemed to be gone this morning, even though Sandi and Quinn were still harping at each other. That was what they _always_ did.

“No, it’s probably not over,” Quinn mused. “Sandi’s definitely not going to let me off easily about those clothes, whether I actually burn them or not. Besides...” She left off in the middle of the sentence.

“Besides what?”

“I’m getting kind of sick of the Fashion Club anyway. I mean, if the point of different styles of clothes is to express yourself, and Sandi just wants to pin everybody to her definition of good taste, is there really a reason to stay in?” _And then there’s that whole tutor business,_ she added to herself.

“I see your point,” Stacy reflected after a few moments. “I’m not sure I agree with all of it, but I see your point.”

“That’s all right. You can think for yourself.” She glanced at her watch, then said, “I have to go grab my stuff. See you later.”

“Later!”

When Quinn opened her locker, she noticed an envelope sitting on top of her pile of books. She pulled out the things she needed for her first couple of classes before she opened it. Inside were a bracelet of some kind and a note:

 _So maybe I didn’t give you enough credit. You’ve got a brain, and you’re even using it - sort of. Can’t say the same for a couple of your friends. Chances are, you’d be better off without them. Oh, and for the record, I think red looks much better on you than pink. But I’m probably biased. -Scarlett_

Quinn had no idea who Scarlett was meant to be, but whoever she was, she definitely had a good eye for jewelry. The bracelet mostly consisted of blood-red beads, and there were a few that had the same sheen as oil in a puddle of rainwater. She was about to put it on when the bell sounded, so she just carried it to homeroom.

It turned out the be an anklet anyway, so it was just as well.


End file.
